


The Good War

by Minque



Series: Closure [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action, Court Martial, F/M, Reapers, Romance, Suspense, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minque/pseuds/Minque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only good war is the one for the galaxy's freedom. Shepard and James's relationship against the backdrop of a war where no one's survival is guaranteed.</p><p>Multiple POV. Starts pre-ME3 and goes through the game.</p><p>***ON HIATUS***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vancouver

Shepard paced her room. Thirteen steps from the door to the bulkhead, a swivel on her heel, and back to the door again. Anderson was late for their daily meeting.

She stalked past the three sets of empty metal brackets on the wall. What she wouldn’t give for just one of them to be active, even if the only thing it broadcasted were elcor opera. She had to make do with just her window. Her off-the-record mission a month ago—when she was supposed to have been under lock and key—hadn’t endeared her to the brass. It hadn’t helped James either, which was probably why she hadn’t seen him in over a week.

She stopped her pacing and stood before the window, hands clasped behind her back as she stared out at the glass and steel buildings. Kids played in the garden perched atop the base housing next door. She knew most of their faces now. Today, they played tag, and she could almost hear their screaming as they tried to keep from getting tagged. A mousy, brown-haired boy she’d never seen before popped his head out of a hiding place and Shepard’s gut twisted. From this far away, he looked like Aaron as she remembered him.

She whirled away from the window and resumed her pacing. The door beeped and opened as Shepard was halfway to the back wall. She spun on her heel.

“You’re late,” she said, frowning.

“No rest for the wicked nor, apparently, for admirals,” said Anderson as he stepped into the room. The door slid shut behind him, cutting off the noise from the rest of the detention centre.

“Any news?”

“The Bahak Systen isn’t part of Citadel Space, so the Council hasn’t asked for a trial,” said Anderson as he sat in one of the chairs at her table. He motioned for her to sit, but she stayed standing. “The Alliance is worried you’ll use the trial as a soapbox anyway.”

“You mean, they’re scared I’ll tell the truth about the Reapers,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Project Base was black-ops and offline. There’s still nothing to back you up but the word of your squad, most of whom aren’t exactly the kind of people the Alliance trusts,” said Anderson, giving her a helpless shrug.

“Kaidan’s a reliable witness.” Anderson’s gaze flickered away to the window, and Shepard gave him an incredulous look. “He says they don’t exist too? After everything we went through with Saren and Sovereign?”

Anderson sighed as he rubbed a hand over his face. The tired lines on his forehead and the shadows under his eyes had deepened over the time he’d been councillor. Shepard couldn’t help the guilt that pricked at her conscience for recommending him to the post. Her decision had been selfish; she just wanted to see Udina passed over for the honour of first human councillor. Now that spineless _boshtet_ was councillor anyway and Anderson had aged too quickly.

“Major Alenko–”

“Oh, I get it now.” Shepard nodded slowly, the skin around her eyes tight with suppressed anger. “The _major_ knows that people don’t become majors when they side with the crazy, traitorous Commander Shepard.”

“That’s not fair and you know it,” said Anderson. His gaze burned into her and she turned away.

Anderson’s admonishment didn’t soothe her anger. She was tired of being cooped up; tired of being cut off; tired of hearing she was lying, insane, brainwashed.

“You were gone for two years, Shepard.” Anderson’s level voice tugged her from her bitter thoughts. “You saw how easily the truth about Sovereign and the Reapers was covered up. Alenko did what any other soldier would: he got on with his work.”

Shepard ran a frustrated hand through her hair. She knew he was right; she just didn’t want to admit it. Without her old squad around to remind her how much they’d changed, her death blended into the dark background of her memories. Shepard kept all her problems tucked away in labelled boxes in her mind, their lids covered in dust—except for a few that had recently been disturbed.

“It wasn’t easy to move on,” said Anderson, breaking the silence that Shepard had let linger. “Least of all for him.”

“He’s moved on enough to forget,” she said, harsher than she’d intended.

“Seems like you’ve moved on too.”

Shepard twisted around to give him a sharp look. Anderson raised a knowing eyebrow. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and Anderson’s eyebrow rose higher. She’d hoped her nascent relationship with James would stay a secret.

“Don’t worry. You’ve been discreet,” he said.

Shepard chewed her bottom lip. “Obviously not discreet enough. I don’t want James to get another black mark in his file because of me.”

“There’s only one way to guarantee that.”

Yeah, by breaking it off, she thought. Instead, she said, “Have a Reaper invasion?”

Anderson snorted. “Fine, two ways.”

Anderson’s omnitool beeped and he looked down at the glow around his arm. He frowned as he read whatever message he’d received, then shut his omnitool and stood.

“No rest for the wicked?” she asked.

“Nor, apparently, for admirals,” he said with a rueful grin. “I’ll keep you updated.”

Shepard nodded, and he left. With a sigh, she collapsed onto the bed.

There was never anything to do after Anderson left for the day. The ceiling was becoming all too familiar.

Without a suitable distraction, her mind turned to her cousin, Aaron. Her hands clenched, fingernails digging into her calloused palm at the thought of the batarian slaver who’d bought her cousin and turned him into an assassin. She couldn’t help dwelling on the furious pain that drenched the batarian’s voice as she’d blamed the murder of her family on Aratoht on Shepard. Vengeance. Shepard understood. The darkest corners of her conscience whispered that she wasn’t so different, pointing to the bloodied box of memories labelled ‘Torfan’.

The door slid open again and Shepard wiped the scowl from her face. She turned her head, wondering if Anderson had forgotten something.

“When I left, you were in that exact same position, bonita,” said James, sauntering in. He waited until the door was closed before adding, “Only, you were naked.”

She couldn’t help smiling at the sight of him. “I wasn’t naked.”

“In my head you were,” said James, giving her a cheeky grin.

Shepard propped herself up on her elbows and raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve never seen me naked.”

“We should fix that.”

Despite his cocky words, he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, like he was waiting for an invitation to come closer. His gaze slid from her to the rest of the room before settling out the window. She understood his hesitation. Without each other’s constant company, she was reminded of just how little they knew about each other—and just how much they still preferred to hide about themselves. Their short visits usually devolved into playful banter rather than delving into each other’s souls. It was just easier, and easy was a welcome change.

“You can’t make good on your word from all the way over there,” she said.

His gaze snapped from the window to her, eyes round. “What?”

“Don’t go all virginal on me now, Lieutenant.” Shepard didn’t think she was very good at seduction, but she tried her best to sound like the femme fatales did in the vids. Her voice dropped into a smooth purr, a little smile tugged the edges of her lips, and her chin inched a bit higher to show off the expanse of delicate skin on her neck that begged to be kissed. “There’re no bugs, the windows are tinted, and Anderson’s been and gone. There’s no one and nothing to interrupt us.”

Shepard just managed to hold onto her laughter as James blinked at her, mouth half-open. He was thinking about it, judging from the way his eyes raked across her body, but for all his flirtations, she knew he was a romantic at heart. Screwing in the middle of the day, in Shepard’s cell, on over-starched Alliance sheets, was far from his ideal for a first time. She didn’t hold the same fanciful notions, but she wasn’t going to begrudge him his.

He stared at her, and she stared back, allowing the silence to drag on.

“Relax, James,” she said, taking pity on him and finally allowing herself to let out her laughter. “I’m not going to wrestle your chastity belt off you.”

James scowled and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I don’t have a chastity belt. I just–”

“Want rose petals on the bed and candles and soft music. I know,” she said, and got up off the bed.

His scowl was still on his face, but his eyes practically burned the clothes off her body as she walked towards him. “When was the last time someone told you that you’re an asshole, Shepard?”

“You, before you left.” She raised herself up on the balls of her feet to give him a quick kiss.

She intended for it to be a quick kiss, anyway.

James’s hands captured her face to keep her from breaking the kiss—not that she had any intention to now. She smiled and let her eyes drift closed. His calloused fingers slid across her cheeks to tangle in her hair, tugging her head further back and teasing her lips open with his tongue. He tasted of coffee and smelled of decon cycle.

Her hands rested on his hips, fingertips teasing the edge of his shirt before creeping up underneath. His skin jumped at the touch of her cold fingers. She’d missed this, missed him. Her finger ghosted across a scar he wouldn’t talk about. It must have meant something as he hadn’t gotten it erased with skin grafts.

One of his hands unwound from her hair to leave a trail of electricity down her back. A shiver ran through her body and made her toes curl. His hand stopped at the small of her back and hauled her against him from thigh to lips. Her hands skittered away from the scar and she raked her blunt nails against his lower back in protest. He made a little sound of pleasure, his arousal pressed against her. A molten lance of desire shot straight to her core.

When he did break the kiss, it was only to trail his lips along her jaw. Another tug of her hair and the expanse of pale, unblemished skin of her neck was his. Each kiss felt like the buzz of pent-up biotics. Her head felt fuzzy but she had no desire to open her eyes and be reminded she was in a cell. Her hands gripped him as if she might topple over if she didn’t hold on.

“Keep going and you might have to abandon your romantic plans,” she managed to say through a moan.

“You can’t keep your pants on until tonight?” he murmured against her neck.

“Tonight?” She didn’t register the implications of his words. Her mind automatically reached for the first smartass comment that lurched out of her lust-fogged brain. “I’ll have to check my schedule. I’m pretty busy staring at ceilings these days.”

James pulled away just enough to look at her, but didn’t release her from his arms. A smirk spread across his moist lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’ll be staring at a ceiling at some point.”

Shepard blinked as her clearing brain tried to make sense of his sentence, then she burst out laughing. She wished she had a good reply, but she was still too distracted by the insistent bulge pressed against her.

He kissed the tip of her nose, making her wrinkle it up in response, and he let go of her. “I actually only dropped by to tell you I was back. I have stuff to do, but I’ll be back at dinner.”

“Dinner with real food?” she asked, eyes wide with hope.

“With lots of real food, cooked by my abuela herself.” Shepard gave him a blank look. “My gran.”

Oh, right. Her omnitool had been deactivated again, and that meant her translator was off too.

“I’m looking forward to real food,” she said with a happy sigh. The food in the detention centre was even worse than the food on the Normandy after Garner had left with the rest of the ex-Cerberus crew.

“Not looking forward to the other thing?” he asked, pretending to be offended.

Shepard shook her head. “Food first. Always food first.”

“Greedy biotics,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

He dropped a final kiss on her forehead and left.

 

***

This was the first detention centre Shepard had been locked up in, but she guessed they weren’t all like this. No guard interrupted her and James that evening to make sure she hadn’t disappeared. No cameras watched as she sat across from James at her tiny table, eating something spicy that she couldn’t pronounce. No hidden microphones recorded them alternating between flirting with and teasing each other. For the first time, she was glad she had no responsibilities or omnitool or vid channels to distract her from enjoying herself.

“So, where were you the past week?” she asked, waving her fork at him.

“Camp Pendleton,” he said, shovelling food into his mouth.

The short answer and mouthful of food was James’s way of saying he didn’t want to talk about something. Tonight, she decided to let him keep his secrets.

She placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her upturned palm, staring out the window. After James had left earlier, Shepard had moved her table next to the window. The setting sun bathed her room in soft light, and the clouds hung like pink and orange pillows against a purple sky. The buildings around them and the distant houses twinkled as people started turning their lights on. Shepard couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat down for dinner with something so pretty to look at, without work nudging her to hurry up.

“Are you done?”

“There’s still some left. I can eat,” she said, nodding her head at the half-full platter in between their empty plates.

“You can always eat.” James plucked the fork from her fingers and dropped it on the table. “Don’t worry, the dish tastes good cold. I want dessert now.”

From his lopsided smile and the spark in his eye, he wasn’t referring to anything like ice cream or pie.

Shepard chuckled as he stood. “Where are the rose petals and candles?”

“They got confiscated,” he said, stepping around the table and standing over her.

She tilted her head up to look at him as he leaned down. He tucked a lock of her fiery red hair behind her ear and her stomach did an embarrassing flip at the tender gesture.

“ _Besarte es como ver las estrellas._ ”

“I don’t have a translator, remember?”

“It’s too cheesy in English anyway,” he said, lips brushing hers as he spoke.

Shepard answered by curling her hand around the back of her neck and pulling him down to kiss her fully.

The door beeped and James shot up out of her grasp. He turned and, at the sight of Anderson, stood to attention, all but smacking his hand to his forehead in a salute. Shepard pursed her lips and glared at the admiral as he stepped into the room and let the door close behind him.

Anderson looked from the table set for two, to James’s red face, and then to Shepard’s scowl. “Am I interrupting?”

“No, sir.”

“Yes,” said Shepard at the same time, flopping back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Councillor Udina contacted me,” said Anderson, and Shepard sat up straight again, her hands balled into fists on her knees. Anderson’s gaze flickered to James, and Shepard gave a small nod that whatever Anderson had to say, he could say before James. “The batarians are calling the destruction of the Alpha Relay an act of war and have mobilised their fleets to the Harsa relay in their home system. The Council doesn’t want another war, and neither does the Alliance.”

A tic in Anderson’s cheek started, and Shepard felt prickles across her body. That tic had been there when Anderson had caught her drunk on duty soon after she’d joined the SSV Tokyo, when he’d watched the ground feed from Eden Prime, when he’d seen Shepard walk into his office with Cerberus operatives trailing behind her.

She licked her dry lips and willed her heart to slow. “And?”

“The batarians want you charged with genocide and handed over to them. The Council wants it downgraded to mass murder with you tried under Alliance military law.” Anderson ran a hand over his head and sighed. “The Alliance hasn’t agreed to anything.”

James was silent, but his hand dropped to rest against the back of her neck. Apparently, saving the Council was good for something if they weren’t willing to hand her to the batarians. She already knew the Alliance no longer trusted her, though.

“What happens if they do decide to court-martial me and I’m found guilty?” she asked, glad her voice didn’t betray the choking dread inside her.

“Labour camp for life.”

Shepard’s fingernails dug into her palms, the only outward sign of her distress hidden out sight under the table. Her chest felt tight. She took a few deep breaths to try and rid herself of the sensation.

“With all the batarians in them already, she’d be lucky to last a week,” said James, who didn’t bother to hide the anger in his clipped words.

Anderson nodded at James and looked back at Shepard. “And your death wouldn’t be quick either.”

Seemed like no matter what happened, the batarians would get her after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the sequel to [Precipice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/805642), but it’s not necessary that you read that first (it would be awesome if you did though XD). Anything referred to in this fic from Precipice will get a quick explanation, so you won’t be left completely in the dark.
> 
> Thank you to [agrivex](http://archiveofourown.org/users/agrivex/pseuds/agrivex)/[dismalniece](http://dismalniece.tumblr.com) for being my awesome beta yet again! Go read her stuff too :)


	2. Family

James had left after Anderson ruined the mood. Other work kept him from seeing her for a few days after that. Despite the charges, Alliance bureaucracy had Shepard in a holding pattern. He liked to think they were stalling, but he knew it was just because nothing ever happened quickly in the Alliance.

They had James in a holding pattern too. His week at Camp Pendleton was the first in a series of tests he’d have to pass to become field rated again. At least it wasn’t like bootcamp this time, although there were still a bunch of sorry asses who were more interested in failing and getting discharged.

As he walked through the Detention Centre, he passed empty rooms on his way to Shepard. Vancouver’s small Detention Centre sat half-way up the massive main building and was only for high-profile prisoners. Shepard was by far the most famous of anyone he’d caught a glimpse of. 

He arrived at her door twenty minutes early, intending to let Shepard meander through the atrium on their way to Anderson’s office. It wouldn’t be the fresh air and freedom she craved, but it’d at least be a change of scenery. He knocked, even though he usually didn’t, and waited a few seconds before entering. She was still where he’d left her a few days ago, at the table staring out the window. The only indication that she’d moved was that she’d changed into her dress blues.

She turned her head and looked at him, a frown between her brows and a faraway look in her eyes. His lips curved in greeting and she returned his smile, although there wasn’t any heart in it.

“Anderson wants to meet with you before you go to the JAG this afternoon,” he said and she nodded. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

As soon as he offered, he knew what she’d ask for.

“Access to the extranet,” she replied as she stood and walked toward him.

 “You know I want to, Shepard.” He couldn’t help feeling guilty for refusing her access yet again.

“It’s okay. It’d be too obvious anyway.” She placed a hand on his arm and this time her smile reached her eyes. “You want to reschedule dinner for tonight? I promise to be less broody.”

“I ate the rest of the food when I got to my bunk.”

Shepard chuckled. “Just bring me a burger.”

He nodded and they left, James trudging next to her with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. Shepard walked in silence. He wanted to ask if she’d heard anything more, but he already knew she knew about as much as he did. They stepped into the elevator and James punched the button that would take them up a handful of floors to the building’s second atrium

James glanced at Shepard, who was leaning against the glass wall of the elevator, frowning at the floor and chewing her bottom lip. Before he could attempt conversation again, the elevator door opened and James motioned for her to follow him. They got a few steps from the elevator before a familiar voice halted him.

“ _Hola_ , Diego.” A wide grin spread across James’s face at the familiar voice calling out his nickname. He turned to see his _tío_ Emilio and his little cousin.

“ _Tío_ Diego!” One day, his cousin might stop calling him uncle, but not while she was still so young.

A bundle of chocolate curls and pink launched herself at him. He caught his cousin under her arms, twirling her in the air before putting her back on the ground.

“You’re getting heavy, Miranita,” he said, pretending to huff and puff. “I think you’re gonna get too big for that soon.”

His cousin gave a squeal of laughter. “No way. You’re as big and strong as a krogan.”

Shepard snorted from next to him and he mock-glared at her.

“Commander Shepard,” said Emilio with a smart salute.

“Just Shepard.” James saw Shepard’s eyes flicker to the insignia on his uncle’s uniform. “I’m decommissioned, Operations Chief… Vega?”

“Emilio Vega, James’s uncle.” Emilio stuck his hand out and Shepard shook it, a smile on her face. “This introduction is supposed to be my nephew’s job, but he was always a rude kid.”

“I know,” said Shepard over James’s protest.

“My name’s Miranda. I’m ten-and-three-quarters.” Miranda looked at Shepard and puffed out her chest, grinning. “How old are you, Miss Shepard?”

“I’m thirty-two-and-one-twelfth, but I feel two years younger.” Shepard’s smile stayed firmly in place while James’s smile drooped. Shepard held out her hand. “I think your dad and cousin want to talk alone. We can sit and talk about books, maybe. Do you like books?”

Miranda’s eyes lit up and she latched onto Shepard’s hand. “I love books.”

James watched Miranda drag Shepard to a row of benches near the floor-to-ceiling windows before turning to look at his uncle. Emilio hadn’t changed in the two years since James had spent quality time with him; he was still as broad and straight-backed as men half his age. Light reflected off Emilio’s shaved head. He’d always had more hair on his face than on top of his head.

“You didn’t visit your _padré_ when you came to Camp Pendleton,” said Emilio once Shepard and Miranda were out of earshot.

James should have known his uncle wouldn’t be content with small talk now that their audience was gone. “He was in prison.”

“He got out a month ago, and you know it.” James crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged at his uncle’s exasperated sigh. “ _La familia es importanté_. He wasn’t always a bad man. Losing your _madré_ was hard on everyone.”

“Why are you defending him?” asked James, frowning.

“When you were sent off-world, he cleaned himself up—got sober, stopped using. He wanted to make sure that when you got back to Earth, you’d find him a better man.”

James snorted. “He mustn’t have tried that hard. He got six months for possession.”

“And was paroled for good behaviour after just two.” Emilio’s deep voice was like rolling thunder, and James had to stomp on the urge to apologise for everything he ever did wrong. “He did a stupid thing after he heard about the attack on Fehl Prime. He thought the only child your _madré_ gave him before she died was dead too. We all thought you might have been dead.”

James had thought his _abuela’s_ tears were from joy at seeing him after so long. Guilt gnawed on his stomach and he looked away. His eyes rested on Miranda. Her voice pierced the background noise and her arms waved through the air as she told Shepard all about the book she was reading.

James shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked back at Emilio. He’d have to apologise to his _madré_ ’s family, but he wasn’t ready to back down about Josh Sanders.

“He could’ve asked the Alliance for information.”

“He did. They couldn’t tell him anything because you never listed him as next of kin.” James opened his mouth, but his uncle kept talking and he snapped it shut again. “When I asked two months ago, I was told that I didn’t have clearance. I called in a few favours and two weeks ago got told you were AWOL.”

“Well, there you go. I was AWOL, not dead.” He knew he sounded like a brat but, when it came to his old man, he didn’t care.

Emilio sighed and muttered a prayer for God to give him patience.

“ _No seas imbécil_. Visit your _padré_.” James’s chin lifted in defiance and his uncle glared at him. His uncle was an inch or so taller, but when James was caught in that glare, he felt about two feet tall. Emilio’s voice was like steel as he added, “That wasn’t a request.”

And with that, the matter was settled. James would visit his old man next time he was in San Diego, or he’d be in more trouble than defiance was worth. He wasn’t scared of Josh Sanders—not anymore—but he was scared of losing his uncle’s respect.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “I'll be back at Pendleton in a week. I’ll visit him, but don’t expect me to stay long.”

“I don’t mind, as long as you go,” said Emilio, but he gave James a look that said he’d be disappointed if James only visited for five minutes. “Now that your _abuela’s_ not around to eavesdrop, I want to full story on why and where you were AWOL.”

James wanted to whine. He didn’t need this kind of interrogation right now.

“Can I ask a question?” said James, delaying answering. “Like, why are you in Vancouver with Miranita?”

Emilio’s eyebrow rose. “She had a school excursion to the Museum of Anthropology yesterday. Her class is learning about the indigenous peoples of the UNAS. Since you didn’t get to see her back home, I came up so she could stay an extra day to come find you.”

That was a quicker explanation than James was expecting, and not one that allowed for follow-up questions.

Silence fell between them.

James didn’t want to talk about why he’d gone AWOL. He hadn’t spoken about it to anyone but Anderson, and that was a five-minute conversation that Anderson ended by saying he would make the AWOL notice disappear once they returned to Vancouver. In return, all James had to do was pass the tests in Camp Pendleton. Why Anderson would do all that for a marine he’d never met before, James still didn’t know.

“After Fehl, I used up my two months of leave, and when those two months were over, I never bothered to come back,” he said, staring at a point just behind Emilio’s left ear. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look his uncle in the eye.

“ _¿Por qué?_ ” Emilio’s voice held neither judgement nor sympathy.

“ _¿Por qué no?_ ” James said with a shrug. He uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I got my unit killed. I let a whole colony die. The information I got wasn’t worth shit. And, let’s not forget, my judgement was clouded because I had feelings for the person who had the data I sacrificed the colonists for.”

“What happened to her?” Emilio didn’t sound surprised that feelings had clouded James’s judgement.

James hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath until it escaped him in a rush. He didn’t want to go into the details of Fehl. The burning feeling of failure never went away, but, to his unease, the resentment toward Shepard resurfaced. For two months, his growing feelings for her had smothered the bitterness he’d first felt when he saw her on the Normandy, hand cuffed and indifferent to her “krogan-human hybrid” guard.  One day, they’d have to talk about Fehl. One very-far-in-the-future day, when thinking about Fehl was no longer like acid burning away at the affection he had for her.

“Omega.” He kept his gaze still firmly over his uncle’s shoulder. “Treeya had different ways of handling her guilt. She wanted to work and study and forget. I wanted to drink and gamble and remember. We lasted about a month, and then she left.”

He hated himself while on Omega. Not only for Fehl and for dragging Treeya to that shithole, but because he felt no different from his old man.

“You got a second chance now, though,” said Emilio, tugging him from his thoughts.

Gratitude that his uncle didn’t offer advice or pitying words washed through his system like a cool balm. “Yeah, I still don’t know how that happened.”

James looked away again. Shepard’s hair blazed in the sunlight as she bent her head to listen to Miranda, who was speaking too quietly now for him to hear. Despite the worrying acidity in his heart, he couldn’t help a little smile as she tucked her hair behind her ear and laughed at something his cousin said. He wondered what they were talking about as his cousin stabbed a finger at the screen on her omnitool before Shepard coaxed Miranda’s arm back down into her lap.

“Is there something going on with you and Commander Shepard?”

James’s head snapped around to gape at his uncle. Emilio’s mouth twitched upward and James felt like his burning ears might shrivel and fall off his head. Emilio would keep their secret, but James dreaded other people knowing about Shepard and him. Fraternisation. It was such a dirty word for something that shouldn’t be dirty.

 “Glad to see your taste has changed. Your _abuela_ might like her,” said Emilio when James didn’t answer. He looked at Shepard and Miranda with their heads bent over Miranda’s omnitool. “Not sure what she sees in you, though, _chico_.”

James frowned, but not at the jab.

“I’m done talking about this,” he said, ending the uncomfortable conversation by striding over to Shepard and his cousin.

“Our little secret, okay?” he heard Shepard say and James’s stomach felt like two Makos had parked themselves inside his stomach.

“What’s a secret?” he asked, hovering behind them.

Miranda spun in her seat, a stricken look on her face. Shepard turned and stood as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Girl’s business. You wouldn’t understand.”

Shepard smiled up at him, and if he were just looking at her lips, he’d see that warm smile that made his insides feel gooey. Her eyes had a sharpness to them though that said he wouldn’t like the truth.

Her attention turned to his uncle. “Why do you call him ‘Diego’?”

James wasn’t drawn in by her sudden change of topic, but Emilio spoke as if James weren’t radiating mistrust and anger.

“We couldn’t think of a nickname using ‘James’ when he was a kid. Diego is the Spanish equivalent,” said Emilio as Miranda climbed over the seat to stand between her father and James.

James ignored Shepard and Emilio’s Spanish lesson, looking down at Miranda and hoping he didn’t look as furious as he felt. “Did you let Shepard use your omnitool?”

Miranda shook her head, but her face went bright red. James might not have seen the kid in over two years, but he still knew when she was lying.

James’s teeth clenched so hard he felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. He glared at Shepard, who stared back at him. She didn’t have the decency to look ashamed.

“We have to go. Shepard is due for a meeting,” he said through gritted teeth.

Emilio looked from Shepard to James, perhaps feeling the almost palpable wrath from James and selfishness from Shepard.

“Am I in trouble?” asked Miranda, latching onto her father’s hand and looking at the three adults with wide, shining eyes.

“No,” they all said at once.

She shrunk against her father’s side and James nodded for them to go. Shepard gave an almost imperceptible nod in return and he looked away from her, disgusted.

“Do you have plans tonight, Diego? Miranita didn’t get to spend time with you,” said Emilio, and James was glad to have someone else to address, even if it was for a few seconds.

“No plans.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shepard’s mouth thin. Why she thought he was still going to come for dinner after this, he didn’t know. “I’ll message you.”

After a few brief goodbyes, James marched the rest of the way across the atrium, Shepard a step in front. The elevator had another two people in it already. Their eyes widened at the sight of Shepard. He stepped in and turned his back on the two. Shepard did the same, but not before giving them a smile.

James could practically feel the two behind them wanting to ask for an autograph or a picture and was glad when the elevator doors opened before they could. He jerked his head and Shepard sauntered out while he stormed along beside her.

He slammed his fist against the button on Anderson’s door before turning to her.

“You used my cousin.”

Shepard crossed her arms over her chest and put her weight on her back foot, her voice like ice as she said, “I was careful. There won’t be any trouble for her or your uncle.”

How could she be so nonchalant? This wasn’t just about people getting in trouble for her actions. This was about family. Family was sacred. He thought she of all people would understand that, considering Mindoir and Aaron.

The door to Anderson’s office slid open.

“Whatever, Commander,” he said, spinning on his heel and stalking off.

James rounded a corner and got halfway down the hall toward the elevator before Anderson’s voice stopped him. “Cool off for an hour, Lieutenant. You still have to escort Shepard to the JAG later.”

His fists clenched tight as he turned to the admiral, fury making his movement jerky. “She used my cousin’s omnitool to send a message. My cousin is ten.”

Thankfully, Shepard hadn’t followed him like Anderson had. He didn’t think he could handle looking at her without wanting to yell at her.

The corners of Anderson’s lips tightened. “Shepard rarely thinks the rules apply to her. I’ll try to minimise whatever damage may come from this.”

James unclenched his hands and ran them over his face and head. Even James could read Anderson’s annoyance at Shepard, but he wasn’t sure if any of that annoyance was because she’s unwittingly dragged a child into helping her break the law. He grunted in anger before looking at Anderson, begging to be given some sort of assurance that Shepard wasn’t as mercenary as she seemed.

“Is there anything you can trust her with?” he asked, hating that his voice betrayed just how hurt he was.

“Doing what it takes to get a job done. Her single-mindedness is something you’re going to have to come to terms with if you’re going to get involved with her.” Anderson held up a finger. “One hour, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”

James walked off, red-faced at the veiled admonishment for not waiting to be dismissed earlier, and for the reminder that Anderson was aware of his “involvement” with Shepard.


	3. Crumble

Shepard spun and landed a kick to the punching bag. The chains suspending the bag from the ceiling creaked as she continued her onslaught of fists, knees, elbows, and shins. She circled the punching bag to look through the floor-to-ceiling windows separating the boxing room from the cardio room. James’s glistening face glared at the computer tracking his progress on the rowing machine. His muscles bulged with each heave of the handlebar. If he pulled any harder, he might break the machine.

He flicked his gaze toward her and she paused her boxing to raise an eyebrow at him. He looked back at the computer. She shook her head and punched the bag one last time. A grown man was giving her the silent treatment.

She turned away from both the punching bag and the window to retrieve her water bottle. 

Maybe she should have waited for another opportunity to contact Liara. She sat on the side of the raised boxing ring, sipping her water. Her eyes narrowed as she watched James. No, there was no guarantee that there’d be another opportunity. 

James’ gaze shifted to her again and she leaned back against the ropes, crossing one arm over her chest. His smooth movements degenerated into jerky yanks of the handlebar.

Three days of this attitude. Shepard was tempted to find out how much longer he could last, but then she’d be lonely. Anderson wasn’t always available, which left her attorney to talk to, and she was less interesting than Shepard’s wall. She scrunched up her face. She was going to have to apologise.

Shepard adjusted her fingerless grappling gloves, taking the time to stomp on her pride, and left the room.

“I need a sparring partner,” she said as she sat on a rowing machine next to him.

“Plenty of other marines here,” he said between gulps of air.

“Great. When I’m done with you, I’ll beat them too.”

James kept his eyes fixed on the computer. “Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me.”

Shepard snorted. “That’s not reverse psychology. Reverse psychology is when I say you’re too bulky to be a real threat to my enhanced strength, speed, endurance, and flexibility.”

“Then why spar at all?”

“Amusement,” she said as she turned off his computer.

He placed the handle back on its cradle and glared at her. She rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” he said and shot to his feet. 

James strode to the boxing room with Shepard trailing after him. He started wrapping his hands with the gym’s borrowed equipment, using his teeth when he needed to pull the bindings tight. When Shepard moved to help him, he turned away.

Her stomach felt like she’d eaten something bad this morning. Give her a gun and an enemy and she was great at confrontation. This kind of confrontation made her want to turn tail and run. She retreated from his personal space, occupying herself with stretching and shaking out her muscles.

Two minutes later, he pulled his gloves on and walked over to her. She held out her fist and he touched it with his own before pulling back like she had scale-itch.

“I should apologise,” she said as they circled each other.

He snorted. “Really?”

Shepard bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from telling him to shut up. “Yes. I shouldn’t have used your cousin’s omnitool. It was wrong. I’m sorry.”

“I thought I’d see the Consort’s blue ass before having the Commander Shepard saying sorry to me.”

“Hey, I’ve apologised–”

He threw a punch. Shepard ducked her head behind her arms. James dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her thighs. A spin of his body to the side and Shepard fell to the mats. He lay across her, his shoulder crushing her cheek into her teeth and pushing her head to the side. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She shouldn’t have fallen for that.

With a shift of her hips and a shove, Shepard wrenched herself out from under his shoulder and wrapped her legs around his waist. James’s forearm pressed against her neck. His first mistake.

“Not bad,” said Shepard, voice strangled from the pressure on her throat.

James eased the pressure. His second mistake. “Varsity wrestling.”

“Cute,” said Shepard. She smiled but didn’t let it reach her eyes. “This is hand-to-hand, though—pins don’t count.”

Shepard dragged his unguarded arm off her throat. She clasped it as she executed a turn of her body so James’s arm and head were trapped between her legs. He tried to yank his arm out of her grip but she clutched against her chest. Shepard could read the realisation that he had lost in the set of his jaw and the creases around his eyes.

She pushed her hips up. He struggled for two seconds before tapping her leg.

Shepard let go and rolled away before climbing to her feet. She held out her hand to James but he ignored it and got to his feet himself. He shook out his elbow, glowering at the ground.

“As I was saying,” she said, dropping her hand to her side. “I’ve apologised to you before.” 

“Wrong,” he said, halting his movements so he could fix her with a stare that would have made most drop their gaze. “I’ve said sorry to you lots of times, but you’re the bigger _pendeja_ here, and you’ve never said sorry.”

That can’t be right. There must have been a time she apologised, even offhandedly. She couldn’t remember any of those times, but she was sure they existed.

“Are we done here?” James asked.

“No.”

She jabbed with her right hand and it connected with his chin. His head snapped to the side. One arm came up to block her left hook even as he dropped to wrap his arms around her thighs. Shepard, prepared this time, sprawled her legs out behind her. His arms caught her about the waist instead. Undeterred, he picked her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist to stop him from getting too dominant a position. He slammed her back onto the mats.

Her ribs felt like they were crushing her lungs. She gasped for air as she linked her hands behind his neck and clamped her arms to her side. He fought her arms and legs, trying to sit up. The extra padding on the gloves—meant to make sparring less painful—scraped against the bare skin of her arms as he tried to wriggle his hands into the little gaps between them. 

The muscles in her arms burned from the effort of keeping him close. Despite her enhanced strength, James was a beast. She let go of his neck and he sat up as far as her legs would let him. He was going to try to pass her guard. Before he could twist his body to the side and create space between her legs, she grabbed his elbow with one hand and the collar of his shirt with the other. A shift of her weight, the proper placement of her feet on the mat and his body, and she flipped them over.

She sat on his stomach, a low mount. James defended himself by pushing his forearms against her hips, trying to dislodge her, but she scooped his elbows out of her way, inching up his chest by pushing her knees up under his arms. She got high enough to be sitting on his diaphragm and dropped down, pressing her belly into his chest to keep his upper back on the floor even as his hips rose up to try and buck her off.

James shoved against her chest with his arm and Shepard reared up, grabbing his arm and pulling it across her chest. She dropped down again, trapping his arm between his neck and her chest. The hand that had trapped his arm between them scooped under his head and grabbed the bicep of her other arm. His breath rasped in her ear, his neck squeezed against his arm as Shepard ratcheted her arms tighter. She dismounted, dropping her hips to the floor and moving clockwise. He tried to move with her but Shepard was faster. As the angle between the bodies increased, Shepard was cutting off the bloodflow to his brain.

He tapped her arm. 

Shepard let go and sat up, crossing her legs and looking down at his prone form. She bit her lip to stop herself from laughing at his red face gulping down air.

“I almost had you at the beginning,” he said, the scowl on his face verging on a pout.

Shepard snorted. This almost felt normal.

“No, you didn’t.” Shepard rested her elbows on her knees as her breathing returned to normal. “I thought you did varsity wrestling.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“I can tell. You were reacting, only thinking about your next move, not the fifth or tenth one down the line that would get me where you want.”

James rolled his eyes. “A lesson from you on planning and consequences.”

Shepard sat up straight and looked away. And just like that, the thirty seconds of ease between them evaporated. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. Apparently her apology wasn’t enough. What else did he want? For her to fall at his feet and beg forgiveness? Shout from the rooftops that she was wrong? Turn back time?

“I needed concrete evidence to give the Alliance to prove that the Reapers are a real threat. The Shadow Broker is the only one who can do that.”

“Oh, that’s okay then. I’ve always wanted my baby cousin to be on the radar of an organisation with a private army.”

Shepard stood and walked away from him before she kicked him. “I don’t think you want an explanation. You want to stay angry.”

She heard him clamber to his feet behind her. She spun to face him. He frowned, his gaze going from her tense shoulders to her balled fists. She must look like she was expecting to get hit. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to relax. He shook his head but kept his distance and muttered something in Spanish under his breath.

“I’m angry because your apology is bullshit,” he said. “You don’t care that you could have put my family in danger. I think you’re just sorry you got caught, and that’s why you’re still justifying yourself.”

Shepard opened her mouth and shut it again. He was right. She saw her opportunity and she took it, knowing it would anger him. If he hadn’t found out, she would never have told him—another addition to the long list of things she kept from him. 

“I don’t think you get how relationships work,” said James. “There are no superior officers, putting family in danger is not collateral damage, and anything more important than what you had for breakfast is not classified information.”

Shepard pursed her lips. She didn’t need a lecture on how relationships worked. The secrecy was for his own good, he was just too stubborn to see it from her point of view. Too stubborn and too infuriating.

“You are the last person who can lecture me about not opening up, James.”

The pulse of biotics coiled around the nodes in her body. She stalked toward him until she was sure he could feel the buzz of eezo radiating from her. Even though her nose only came up to his chin, she refused to tip her head up at him. 

“Where was that Collector attack that took little eight-year-old April?” asked Shepard, hands on her hips. James narrowed his eyes and his nostrils flared at his sharp intake of breath. A little voice inside her head tried to tell her she was being cruel. She ignored it. “How did you get that scar on your side? Why were you really on Omega? Why don’t you talk about your family?”

The pumping music of the gym filled the silence between them. 

The door opened. Neither of them broke their stare. The intruder got one foot in the door before Shepard flicked a glowing hand at them. A throw field pushed the intruder out the room again and the door slid shut. The tiny release of energy was enough to take the edge off her biotic build-up, and the interruption was enough to break the impasse.

“You can’t expect honesty when you won’t give it,” said James.

Anderson had said as much to her after James had stormed off the other day. Coming from James, though, the words were so hypocritical she couldn’t help a snort of derision.

“I wasn’t brought back to be a girlfriend. I was brought back to fight the Reapers.” She wished she could put space between them, wished she could look away from the hurt and anger that rolled across James’s face, but Shepard would die before she was the first to back down. “I told you in the safehouse that I came with baggage. I told you to walk away if you couldn’t deal with it.”

James let out a frustrated growl, rubbing his hands over his head. She thought he might turn away and walk off, giving her the space she wanted without her needing to move, but he didn’t. 

“It’s not your ‘baggage’ I can’t deal with, Shepard.” He flung his arms out, talking with his hands as much as his voice. “It’s how everything has to be done your way, when you want it, and fuck anyone else. I know you’re not a saint, but you crossed a line.”

“If I had to, I’d cross it again.”

James huffed a mirthless laugh. “And that’s how I know that you don’t mean it when you say you’re sorry. I don’t trust you anymore.” His gaze darted over her face, both of them silent while he searched for whatever he was looking for. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. “I’m done, Shepard.”

Shepard’s head tilted to the side, confused as to what he was done with… 

Oh.

The music and the smell of sweat and the people who passed by the windows faded as she stared at James, her eyebrows drawn together and her lips parted as if she was going to say something—except no words came out her mouth. No words even entered her head. Hell, she’d forgotten how to breathe.

Her chest burned, partly from holding her breath and partly from the pain that stung fiercer than her anger could numb. She licked her dry lips, buying time as she tried to gather the tattered remains of her dignity. She shut out those green eyes that seemed to be begging for her to fight him. She shut out that scarred face with those lips that had stopped her from revenge killing again, that had whispered sweet nothings, and that had wheedled their way past her defences just to rip her apart from the inside.

“Then I guess your babysitting services are done too, Lieutenant,” she said, forcing the hard Commander Shepard tone into her voice. “I expect your transfer request to be on Anderson’s desk by the time I see him this afternoon.”

She turned and stalked to the door.

“You can’t give me ord–” The rest of his sentence was cut off by the door closing behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Sorry about the long delay between updates! The next chapter will absolutely not take two months to finish ;) Thanks dismalniece for your patience and quick betaing!  <3


	4. Wounds

The taste of dirt coated James’s mouth. He spat out grit and wiped his lips on his shoulder. The soldier in front of him kicked more mud into his face as they crawled under the barbed wire of Camp Pendleton’s obstacle course.

“You wanna crawl a little more gracefully, _hermano_?” said James.

“Sorry, I can’t get a foothold in this mud.”

“Use your knees, not your feet.”

“It’s been a while since I had to do this,” said the soldier, shooting a grin over his shoulder.

No kidding, thought James. A quick look around at the rest of his squad showed mainly overweight or uncoordinated soldiers panting and thrashing in the mud.

They cleared the barbed wire crawl and James sprinted ahead of the others to the solid wall they had to scale. He knitted his fingers together and braced himself for the soldiers who’d use his hands as a springboard to get over the wall. One by one, his squad clambered up and disappeared before a rope was thrown over and James cleared the wall last.

After another two hundred metre sprint, where he’d overtaken at least half his wheezing squad, the mouth of a long pipe gaped before him. It was just large enough for him to crawl through. From the darkness, he could hear others swearing as they wriggled through the tight fit. He stared across the length of the pipe. It looked ten klicks long.

“You okay, Vega?” asked one of his squad, smacking his shoulder as she stopped beside him.

He looked down at her dirty face and she raised her eyebrows at him.

“I’m fine, McCormack,” he said, pasting a grin on his lips. She narrowed her eyes at him before shrugging and dropping to crawl into the hole.

Two more of his squad ran up, one of them panting out a thanks for waiting. James forced another smile. Yeah, waiting, that’s what he was doing—making sure that everyone got into the pipe so they’d all finish together.

The last of his squad stumbled to the pipe, collapsed atop it, and squashed his face into his arm. “I can’t breathe.”

“By the end of the four weeks, it won’t be so bad,” said James.

The balding soldier rolled his head to the side just enough to glare at James. “Not all of us can be as virile as you, Lieutenant. Some of us were made for a desk.

James frowned, not sure whether his squadmate’s sneer was genuine or due to fatigue. The soldier muttered a few curses, fell to his knees, and inched his way into the hole.

Down the length of the pipe, he could see his squad emerging and running to the next obstacle. He licked his lips and crouched to stare down the hole. The balding soldier blocked most of the light from the end of the pipe. The dark space didn’t look or feel anything like a Collector pod, but it didn’t have to. He stuck his head into the hole and put a tentative hand on the floor of the pipe. It was squishy from the mud. His heart thudded in his chest in a way that had nothing to do with the sprint. The mud wasn’t warm like the squishy lining of the pod, but it didn’t have to be.

The pipe smelled of earth and sweat and mould but memory filled his nostrils with the pod stench. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he crawled further. Sickly sweet rotting flowers. That’s what the pod smelled like. Small and warm, pressing against his shoulders. His heart beat in his ears. Tight. Too tight. No escape. Going to die.

For nothing.

“Vega, come on.” April’s voice rang in his ears and chased his conscience around his head. “Lieutenant Vega.” Her giddy laugh, her crying, her cut-off scream, the silence. “Move, Vega! You’re going to get us all on parade duty at asscrack in the morning.”

Hands like talons on his arms and scuffling in the darkness like the flutter of wings. He lashed out, fighting to get away from the Collectors and crawl back to where he could feel fresh air and freedom. His fist connected with something and he was rewarded with a pained cry. The talons disappeared and he wriggled backward into the open. He stood, gasping in the sweet air and staring up at the blue sky. Sunlight bathed him in warmth like a soothing blanket and he closed his eyes.

“I think you broke my cheekbone,” said McCormack, her voice echoing from the pipe and distorted with pain.

Not Fehl. Camp Pendleton. Reinstatement training. _Shit_.

When he opened his eyes, McCormack was crawling out the entrance and her cheek was already bright red. Most of his squad had stopped to stare at him from the other end of the pipe with only the very few in front oblivious to what was happening behind them.

“What a fucking dismal performance.” The instructor’s voice boomed out of an archaic megaphone. The running specks in the distance stopped and finally realised they weren’t being followed. “Congratulations, Lieutenant Vega, you’ve won the Biggest Disappointment award. You’ve earned your squad some quality time with the parade ground at 0500 tomorrow morning.” The megaphone squealed and crackled in tandem with the groans from the squad. “I’m done watching you all waddle and wheeze. Hit the showers. You’ll spend the rest of the day making sure the barracks are fucking spotless.”

James ran a dirty hand over his face and hair. “I’m sorry, McCormack. Go to the doc. I’ll clean for you.”

McCormack sighed and shook her head. “You gotta get a hold of whatever just happened or you’ll be out.”

James nodded and trudged behind McCormack to the rest of the squad. He had no idea how to start ‘getting a hold of it’. The last time the Alliance had tried to make him see a shrink, he’d gone to two awkward session and took off to Omega two days later.

 

* * *

 

James pushed his food around his plate until all the colours blended together. The bilingual chatter of his family, usually a comforting noise, couldn’t ease his mind today. Two more rounds of the o-course in the past week had seen him get no more than halfway down the pipe before he panicked. His squad was getting very good at drilling from 0500 until lunch.

“ _Rápido_ , Miranita, go see if frogs have grown hair. Diego’s not eating,” said Emilio as he nudged his daughter.

Miranda giggled. “That’s just a saying, _papá_.”

James looked up and tried to smile. In the mirror behind Miranda’s head, he could see his face looked more like he was constipated than at ease.

“ _Siento_. I’m really tired,” he said with a sigh.

He put his fork down and leaned back in his chair, hands knitted together behind his head.

His _abuela_ launched into a lecture about how growing boys needed to eat, but this time James was too tired to argue that he was only growing outward these days. Emilio’s wife tried to convince the old woman to stay seated but she wouldn’t hear of it, hobbling out of her chair to clear James’s plate and pack him food to take back to base, just in case he got hungry later.

Emilio motioned with head for James to go get some air before his _abuela_ decided to start force-feeding him whatever she couldn’t pack away. James mumbled something about going to the toilet and slipped out of the room. He walked through the main hallway, fingers tracing over the knick-knacks and framed pictures that had cluttered the place since he was too short to touch the highest photos.

His _abuela’s_ arthritic dog looked at him from its bed as James passed through the lounge room and out the screen door. A few minutes later, the door opened and closed again.

“I thought you were supposed to stay in your dress blues for your half-day liberty,” said Emilio.

James looked down at his t-shirt, the logo faded and fabric threadbare. His perfectly pressed uniform top with its shiny medals and coloured bands lay abandoned on the back of a chair inside.

“I don’t remember you ever staying in your uniform during your half-days,” said James, turning to lean back against the railing.

Emilio chuckled. “I never wanted to be a perfect soldier.”

James dropped his gaze to study his spotless boots. Emilio leaned on the railing, looking out at the darkening neighbourhood. Streetlights flickered on in James’s peripheral vision and Miranda’s voice wafted out the open window as she argued with her _mamá_ over her bedtime. He could get used to this, maybe. His family a short drive away, getting a job that didn’t involve death, meeting someone normal. He frowned. It sounded boring.

“I might end up washing out.” The lead ball in his stomach felt heavier now that he’d said it aloud.

“Oh?”

He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration. “I can do everything better than anyone else, but I can’t finish the o-course. Crawling down that goddamn pipe makes me… remember things.”

“How bad is it?”

“I fractured the cheekbone of the woman who tried to calm me down. I thought she was a Collector.”

Emilio made a little humming noise in the back of his throat. “What are your options?”

“There’s only one option: manage it,” said James and he looked at his uncle with a humourless smile tugging at his lips. “Except, I have three weeks, and it takes people months of therapy to control their panic attacks.”

“I’m a little out of my depth here. You talked to a counsellor about this? Or maybe Shepard?”

“I don’t want to talk to Shepard.” The words came out harsher than he’d wanted. One of Emilio’s bushy eyebrows rose. “I don’t want to talk about Shepard either.”

Emilio shrugged and they fell into silence again. James inspected his shirt, poking at the hole his belt buckle made and checking the frayed edges. Shepard had told him to use clear nailpolish to keep frayed cloth from fraying further. Actually, she’d told him to get a new shirt, but he’d done neither of those things and now his shirt had a few lost threads running almost up to his bellybutton.

“I know she’s not perfect. I’ve seen her vulnerable, she’d made questionable choices, and she’s a major pain in the ass when she wants to be, but I expected better of her.” She’d shot the last of her family to save him. Surely that meant something. “Anderson told me she always gets the mission done, but I didn’t expect her to jump on the first omnitool she could get her hands on if it meant jeopardising us.”

James propped his elbows on the railing and dropped his head into his hands. Coming back to Earth was supposed to make everything right for him again. Get reinstated, visit his family, go back to being the best soldier he could be—being with Shepard was an unexpected bonus—but now it was all going to shit.

“It sounds like you did expect her to be perfect,” said Emilio. “You expected her to be exactly how you wanted her to be, even though you’d already seen and been told how she is.”

James turned his head to glare at his uncle. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side, _chico_ , but that doesn’t mean I won’t call you out,” said Emilio as he clapped James on the shoulder and chuckled. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but if you want to be reinstated, you either talk to a shrink or talk to Shepard.”

“I can’t.”

Emilio nodded and patted his shoulder again. He pushed himself away from the railing and walked to the front door. James heard the creak of the screen door and then a pause.

“You took a risk once and made a choice that changed your life, Diego. Time for you to make another decision.”

The door banged closed.

James felt seventeen again, leaning against his _abuela’s_ porch railing and wondering if tomorrow he’d be in jail or in the Alliance. Washing out after everything he’d achieved seemed worse than jail. At least if he was in jail, he’d see a lot of his old high school friends.

The patter of tiny feet on groaning floorboards inside interrupted his musings before Miranda’s piercing voice.

“Why didn’t Shepard come with you? _Papá_ told me you and her were–” Miranda burst into giggles as she opened the door, “–‘special friends’. Like I don’t know what boyfriends and girlfriends are.”

“You better not have a boyfriend we don’t know about, Miranita,” said James, looking down at her with a mock frown.

Miranda gagged. “Boys are gross.”

James snorted. “We are gross.”

“I liked her, though. She said I was as smart as her friend who has the same name as me.” She beckoned for him to stoop down so she could talk into his ear. “Don’t tell _papá_ , but she taught me how to bypass the security on my omnitool. I can do whatever I like now. Maybe I’ll talk to Shepard.”

Great, now Shepard was teaching his cousin how to be an underage criminal. That was definitely what a cheeky, curious, too-smart-for-her-own-good kid needed.

“If you try it, maybe I’ll tell your dad.”

Miranda’s scrunched up her nose and puffed out her cheeks before she turned on her heel and stormed off.

James shook his head and went back to staring at the empty street. The o-course was waiting for him tomorrow and he’d force himself down that pipe again, but it wouldn’t matter. He’d never finish. Not without talking to someone who understood.

“ _P_ _apá_ told me to tell you to go see _tío_ Josh,” said Miranda as she trudged out and glared at him.

He crouched so he’d be at eye-level with her. “Are you still mad at me for threatening to tell your dad?” She crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air. “Okay, you don’t abuse your power, and I won’t tell your dad. No talking to strangers, no trying to contact Shepard. Deal?”

Miranda pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, a spark of mischief in them. “And going to see _tío_ Josh? He misses you.”

 “You drive a hard bargain, Miranita,” he said with a sigh but stuck out his hand. She grinned and grabbed it tight, shaking it with so much enthusiasm her whole body bounced.

“ _Buenas noche_ , _tío_ Diego.” She threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“ _Que sueñes con los angelitos_ ,” he said with a smile and she ran back inside.

James’s smile dropped. What a great week he was going to have: talk to Josh, talk to a shrink, and talk to Shepard. Emilio was an evil genius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to dismalniece for her quick betaing even while she was super busy with work. And a huge thanks to people still following and reviewing this thing! <3


	5. Evidence

Shepard’s new guard stood exactly two feet to the right of the door, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall and his posture at rigid attention. He’d been standing that way for the past fifteen minutes, and Shepard had no inclination to ask him to relax.

She sat at the dining table, picking at the food the guard had brought her. Mashed potatoes like cardboard mulch, steak like thick cardboard, vegetables like soggy cardboard. Her jello dessert wobbled when she poked it with a spoon, but she was sure that would taste like gelatinous cardboard.

“You know, Corporal, it wouldn’t kill you to maybe throw this in a compactor and get me a burger,” she said, throwing her flimsy cutlery on the tray and spreading her paper napkin over the entire thing so wouldn’t have to look at it anymore.

The corporal stayed silent, like he always did until Shepard gave him permission to speak freely. It didn’t seem to matter to him that technically she didn’t hold rank. He was like an Alliance recruitment holo. His close-cropped hair looked freshly cut, his boots so shiny she could make him eat off them, and his uniform was pressed to perfection—down to the crisp crease that ran straight down the front of his dress pants. James had never worn dress pants. She wrinkled her nose up and looked out the window.

The corporal could stay silent. She didn’t need another insubordinate guard getting too comfortable.

The corporal’s omnitool beeped, and out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he moved his arm just enough to read whatever he’d been sent. She saw him glance at her, an agonised expression on his face. She looked at him and his eyes flicked to six inches behind her left ear.

“Go on,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Admiral Anderson requests your presence in his office, Commander.”

“Great. Maybe he’ll get me a burger,” she said as she stood. The corporal opened the door for them.

Shepard strode into the empty hallway and the corporal followed to her right and two steps behind. The first day he’d had to escort her somewhere, she’d spent the ten minute walk stopping or hurrying randomly. The corporal never missed a beat.

The walk through the sky atrium made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Even though she tried to keep her eyes fixed on the elevator doors on the other side of the atrium, her gaze kept being pulled to the seats by the window. Her gut twisted itself into such a tight knot that had she actually eaten her lunch, she might have decorated the atrium floor with it.

She hurried to the other side of the atrium, almost tripping over a running toddler halfway there. The mother who scooped up the child gaped at Shepard, although whether it was from recognition or because she’d barely mumbled an apology, Shepard didn’t care. The atrium used to be her refuge from her cell. Now it was too bright, too warm, and too full of staring people.

Once in the elevator, she rested her forehead against the window and stared out over the city. Shepard valued her solitude, but in Vancouver that was all she had. She wanted to punch James for being so stubborn, so righteous, so private, so _far away_. She missed his stupid jokes, the way he’d frown right before he argued with her, the competition during workouts, the quiet times they no longer needed to fill with words.

A soft cough yanked her out of her memories and she turned her head. The corporal held the elevator doors open. She marched past his carefully blank expression and down the hall to Anderson’s office. She knocked and stared at the camera above the door. A few seconds later, the door slid open and she plopped herself down in the chair across the desk from Anderson.

“Wait outside, Corporal,” said Anderson and the door slid closed again.

“He won’t buy me burgers,” said Shepard, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “You assigned me a babysitter who doesn’t care about my nutrition.”

“I’ll look into it,” said Anderson, but the amused twitch of his lips, coupled with his wry tone, told Shepard that he had no intention of letting this guard be so easy on her. He picked up a datapad and handed it to her. “This gem turned up on my desk this morning.”

Shepard pursed her lips as she scrolled through the data in one of the six open tabs—partially recovered data of the discovery of Object Rho.

“I thought Project Base was completely offline. Where was this info from?”

“Black ops recon in the Bahak System years ago.” When he didn’t continue, Shepard looked expectantly at him over the top of the datapad. He shrugged. “Classified.”

She sighed. Of course it was. Shepard switched to the next window. Grainy pictures of familiar, elongated dark shapes stood out against the backdrop of a galaxy: Reapers. The top of each picture had letters and numbers—not all of them in galactic basic. Anderson craned his neck when Shepard tilted the datapad toward him and raised her eyebrow in askance.

“Recent images sent back from deep space probes,” he said. “They’re from almost every species. We don’t know exactly where the probes are, but respective governments will at least know which direction they exited the galaxy.”

Shepard pointed to the string of characters in the corner of one image. Reapers were scattered across the frame, but much more than any of the other images she’d see. “Who owns this probe?”

“The batarians.”

“The Reapers were heading for the Alpha Relay. Kite’s Nest is the next closest cluster with a relay.” Anderson nodded, a single jerk of his head, his mouth tight with unease. Shepard stared at him. “You have to tell the batarians. Kar’shan and every other colony in the system will get wiped out.”

“The Hegemony has cut all communication with us, even their backchannels. The Bahak System had three hundred thousand–”

“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “I know how many people I killed.”

“Then see it from their perspective,” he said, his hard tone making her shut her mouth. “Three hundred thousand dead and you say it’s to stop the Reapers, which no one believes exists because the Council made sure to censor everything about them.”

Anderson leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. Shepard chewed the inside of her cheek and stared at the blue, patterned carpet. She had to remind herself that the Council had had two years to erase the truth about Sovereign, the Geth, and Saren. The reminder of her death soured her mood further, only this time she didn’t have James or Garrus or Kasumi or anyone, really, to lift her spirits.

“Your first priority is to convince the Navy Board of the Reaper threat,” said Anderson and Shepard scrunched up her face. “The rest of the datapad has research on pieces of Sovereign, preliminary reports on suspected reaper artefacts, and autopsies on husks.”

“People saw Sovereign with their own eyes, fought and lost thousands against it. This–” she threw the datapad back on his desk, “–isn’t going to be enough.”

“I’m not saying they’re going to believe everything on here and drop all charges. All you need to do is plant doubt in their minds that the Reapers are a myth—anything to delay your court martial.” He leaned forward and picked up the datapad, shaking it at her. “There are those who believe you without this information, Shepard. Now you just need to buy yourself more time to help us think of a defence strategy.”

“You have a lot of faith in me, Anderson.”

“You got this kind of information to magically appear on my desk, in a sealed room, with no footage of who left it here, while you were under arrest in one of the Alliance’s most secure HQs, where you had no ready access to the outside world.” Anderson chuckled. “Yes, I have a lot of faith in you."

* * *

Shepard sat at her table reading off a datapad so thick it might as well have been a brick. It needed Tali-levels of creative hacking to get around the security locks on it. The no contact rule still chafed, but the datapad was loaded with enough books to pass the time.

After her meeting with Anderson three days ago, she’d expected to have to wait at least a fortnight before the Navy Board wanted to speak to her. Instead, she was due to go in front of them within the hour. She should be reading something to do with her case, but the roundabout legal jargon in the documents might as well have been written in hieroglyphics.

A knock at the door interrupted her reading. She waited. The door didn’t open. It wasn’t Anderson, then. She turned off the datapad, set it on the table, and rested her chin in her palm. Another knock, still polite but a little louder. She drummed her fingernails on the table.

“Commander Shepard?” The corporal’s muffled voice sounded part curious, part worried. Maybe he was scared she’d managed to escape. “Ma’am?”

After another knock, this time more insistent, she said, “Just come in already.”

The door opened and the corporal took two steps in before standing to attention and saluting. “You have a vidcall, Commander.”

Shepard raised an eyebrow. “That’s a cruel joke, Corporal, and I’ll be reporting you for mental torture of a prisoner.”

The corporal’s eyes widened. “It’s not a joke, ma’am, Admiral Anderson approved it.”

Her other eyebrow rose too. “Who is it?”

The corporal pulled up his omnitool. “Staff Lieutenant James Vega, ma’am.”

Shepard’s eyebrows fell into a frown and she leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. The corporal shifted his balance from one foot to the other under her scrutiny.

“What does he want?” she asked and the corporal shook his head and shrugged.

Shepard chewed the inside of her cheek as she stared at the table. A few days ago, she’d been lamenting not having James around for company. Now, she didn’t even want to hear his voice through the tinny speaker of the datapad—not right before she hadto keep her cool to argue her case to a stubborn Navy Board.

“No. I’m busy,” she said. Doubt flickered across the corporal’s face and she glared at him. “If the lieutenant’s information was urgent, the admiral would have said so. Deny the call.”

The corporal hesitated for another second before tapping a message into his omnitool. He saluted, said he’d be back to escort her to her meeting in forty minutes, and left.

Shepard stood and paced the room. He was thousands of klicks away and still knew when she needed company, only he answered her mental summons at the wrong time. She should have listened to her instincts when she and James were lost in the Canadian wilderness. Romance was a bad idea. Emotions ruined her concentration and forced her to make decisions where she’d lose something personal no matter what she chose. Kaidan sidled to the front of her mind and she shoved him back into his box.

She rubbed the back of her neck, her hand scraping over the empty implant. Another thing she’d lost because she couldn’t keep her cool when it came to James. Her tiny display in the gym, caught on camera, was enough to void Anderson’s promise to the brass that she’d keep her biotics in check. Now, energy fizzled through her body, pooling at her nodes but without enough focus to do anything but let off a tiny spark of blue.

This was ridiculous. Pacing was working her up, not calming her down. She snatched her datapad from the table and flopped onto the bed, intent on settling herself by reading about someone else getting into trouble for once.

* * *

The Navy Board’s room smelled of wood polish. Shepard looked down at her reflection in the wooden table and resisted the urge to smudge the sheen by drawing on it with her fingers. Her lawyer sat by her side, one sleek datapad ready for her to type on and another open to an index of law books and documents, just in case. Anderson sat at a long table opposite them with two more brass sitting either side of him.

The QEC unit next to Anderson’s flickered to life with Hackett’s image. He nodded to Anderson and the others before acknowledging Shepard. She gave him a tight smile.

“I thought the Navy Board would be bigger,” said Shepard, leaning closer to her lawyer.

“The Navy Board consists of more officers, but they do not have clearance for the information to be discussed in this meeting. Only Alliance admirals, rear admirals, and generals do, but they rotate on the Board every year, hence why this meeting is so intimate. As for Fleet Admiral Hackett–” she shrugged and pushed her glasses up her nose, “–I suspect he is here because this information is highly unusual.”

Shepard leaned back in again, resting her elbows on the arms of the chair and knitting her fingers together over her stomach. The admirals stated their ranks and names for the VI recording the meeting and her lawyer did the same for herself and Shepard.

“We’ve reviewed the evidence, and it is enough to merit further investigation,” said the brass to the left of Anderson. “We’ll be postponing any court proceedings until our investigation is over.”

“And the batarians?” asked Shepard.

The other brass nodded her head. “We’ll find a way to placate them.”

Shepard frowned. “I meant, are you going to tell them about the Reapers heading straight for their front door.”

The two unfamiliar faces in the room shared a look Shepard knew well from any time she’d ever asked the Council for anything. She looked to Anderson for help, but his lips were set in a tight line.

“At this stage, there’s not enough hard evidence to present to the batarians, and the evidence we do have violated Council space’s espionage laws,” said Hackett.

Shepard shot up out of her chair and slammed her hands on the table. “There’s just one relay between Harsa and Arcturus, two before the Reapers arrive at Earth. Sovereign cut through our largest ships almost three years ago like they were toys. What will a thousand do? You’ve seen what they did to us on Eden Prime, you’ve read the autopsies. Imagine every colony, every city, every single human on Earth turned into husks and hunting the last–”

“Sit down, Shepard.” Hackett’s bark shut her up but she stayed standing, her hands stinging from how hard she’s smacked the table and her heart beating in her ears. He fixed her with a stare that would have made someone who hadn’t faced down Reapers and Collectors crap themselves. “Sit down, Commander.”

Shepard’s nostrils flared as she let out an angry breath and she plopped herself down in her chair, making sure to scrape it along the wooden floor as she inched it closer to the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the unfamiliar brass giving her disapproving looks but she kept her gaze fixed on Hackett.

He was the one who sent her after Kenson. He was the one who told her to be discrete. Without Hackett, the Alpha Relay would be intact and the Reapers would already be here. He was a much to blame as her, but he wasn’t the one in the brig having to yell about the threat the entire goddamn galaxy was facing.

“As soon as we have sufficient information, we’ll inform the batarians of any threat to their borders.” Hackett gave her the same placating look that Anderson gave her when he felt she was being unreasonable. Maybe it was something all admirals had to master before they got the job. “This is beyond the military now, Shepard. The highest offices of the Alliance and Earth’s sovereign countries will have to deliberate on this information and whatever we find during our own investigation.”

“So, you’re telling me it’s out of my hands,” she said, lips curled into a snarl. “You’re telling me that _you_ sent me into the Bahak system to help Project Base complete its objective but you’re also going to let me hang for it.”

“We’re telling you to stand down, Shepard, and _I’m_ telling you to be patient,” said Hackett. Shepard crossed her arms and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. “This meeting is adjourned. Hackett out.”

The admirals and Shepard’s lawyer stood and saluted. Shepard stayed in her chair, glaring at the image that flickered and disappeared. So much for keeping her cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! An update in less than two months! As always, thanks to everyone who's still reading, giving kudos and reviewing and also a huge thanks to dismalniece who was super busy but edited anyway <3


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